


He's Walking Back to Me

by KareliaSweet



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blood, Clothes Shopping, Even in romcom AUs there's plenty of blood, First Kiss, Fluff, La Traviata, M/M, Pretty Woman AU, Young Hannibal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2016-02-02
Packaged: 2018-05-17 19:43:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5883163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KareliaSweet/pseuds/KareliaSweet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt-based. Two small snippets of the most famous scenes from Pretty Woman with a Hannigram twist.</p><p>OR</p><p>Someone take my computer away from me now for the love of God.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Big Mistake.

**Author's Note:**

> This all started with the prompt "Pretty Woman AU with young Hannibal as the Pretty Woman/boy" and then someone hinted that Hannibal should kill the rude shopgirl. I absolutely had fun writing these snippets, but I have no intention of writing a whole story so I paired them together under one roof.

“Can I help you?”

The young man looks up at her from the rack he’s currently perusing.

“No, thank you,” he says politely, and returns to examine the stitching on one of the more expensive suits.

He runs his fingers along a blazer with red and brown checks. It looks rather ridiculous contrasted against his current ensemble - threadbare t-shirt and old jeans that are clearly too large for him. Probably not even his. He looks like a vagrant, or worse, a -

“Actually, could you tell me how much this is?”

He holds up the suit jacket in question. The sales associate arches an icily stern eyebrow.

“Sir,” she says coldly, ladling as much sarcasm into the syllable as she can, “I don’t think that would fit you.”

Hannibal’s hand falters a little and the coat trembles in his hand.

“I didn’t ask if it would fit, I asked how much it cost.”

The girl plucks the garment neatly from his hands.

“It’s very expensive.”

Hannibal straightens his shoulders, looks down at her with as much defiance as he can.

“I have plenty of money,” he says curtly, digging his hand into his pocket to pull out his wallet.

No. Will’s wallet. His bravado wilts instantly.

“I don’t think we have what you’re looking for,” the girl says calmly, the sugared tone of her voice as good as poison.

Hannibal’s hand clenches around the wallet. Around the money that isn’t his. The girl’s face twitches in the beginnings of a sneer.

“I don’t think we have anything for you. You’re obviously in the wrong place. Please leave.”

He opens his mouth, thinks better of himself, closes it, and turns away, leaving the shop without another word.

He marches on and does not look back, refusing to give her the satisfaction of seeing the unshed tears that prick against his lashes.

-x-

“Are you ready to go?”

Will ducks his head into the bedroom as he fastens his cufflinks. Hannibal stands before the full length mirror, adjusting his bowtie even though it is already as perfect as the rest of him. Will frowns in puzzlement.

“That’s the same suit you wore last night.”

Hannibal meets eyes with him in the mirror, looks away just as swiftly.

“Yes.”

Will crosses the threshold of the bedroom and stands behind Hannibal, fingers just softly grazing the dip of his lower back.

“I gave you my credit cards, I told you you could spend as much as you needed.”

Hannibal nods and turns to face him, all crispness and authority.

“I know. I couldn’t seem to find anything that was quite my style.”

He turns back to his reflection, but Will catches him by the elbow, pulls him back, trying once again to coax free the frightened and beautiful man that rests just beneath the depths of those mournful eyes.

“You couldn’t find anything? On Rodeo Drive?” Will tucks a finger under his chin. “Hannibal.”

Hannibal sighs and averts Will’s uncomfortably tender gaze.

“Did you not feel comfortable spending my money?” He feels Hannibal tense under his hand. “Stop that. I’ve told you what’s mine is yours.”

If only he knew how far the sentiment extended. Three days and already Will knows he would give him the world if Hannibal would just let him.

“Thank you,” Hannibal replies, “It was not an issue of comfort. I had intended to buy something, only-”

He looks down then, fighting against the tide that urges him to sink into Will’s arms and cry.

“What?” Will nudges at him with his knuckle, pulling the dark, sad eyes to meet his. “Only what?”

Hannibal explains the day’s embarrassing events. Will’s eyes turn gray and steely with resolve.

“Come with me.”

He takes Hannibal’s hand and drags him toward the door.

“Will, what are you-”

“We’re going back there.”

Hannibal stiffens in resistance

“What about the opera?”

Will sighs, pulls Hannibal close to him and cups his face in his hand.

“I’ll take you to a million operas, I promise,” he says, stroking Hannibal’s cheek with his thumb.

Hannibal leans into the touch and pouts a little, cautiously toeing the waters of comfortable teasing they’ve begun to grow accustomed to.

“But it’s La Traviata,” he says softly, letting his lashes drift lower to further hood his gaze.

Will laughs huskily at the display. “And I can change our tickets to tomorrow.”

Hannibal’s lip juts out a little further. Will’s chest tightens and expands all at once.

“You really want to go, don’t you?”

Hannibal just nods, tilts his head as Will leans in and nuzzles the hollow under the graceful arch of his cheekbone.

“Fine,” Will murmurs, his breath drifting hot over Hannibal’s skin.

Hannibal basks in the affection, his eyes drift close and for one sweet second he sees an entire future of opera and laughter and  _Will_ and his body almost aches at how wonderful a vision it is.

“We’ll go tonight.”

Will pulls him from his reverie with a light kiss to his forehead. Not his mouth, never his mouth, Hannibal’s damnable rules that he himself rails curses against in this moment. Only a moment, then he remembers who and what he is and the light behind his eyes shutters closed.

Will pretends valiantly not to see it, how frustratingly close he had come to breaking through.

“But tomorrow,” he says, forcing the merriment to spill bright over his tongue, “I’m taking you shopping.”

-x-

“Pardon me.”

The man who politely requests her attention is unfairly gorgeous. Dressed in a red and brown checked suit (something about that rings familiar in her mind but she can’t quite place it), silk paisley tie and chocolate leather Ferragamos, he should look ridiculous. And yet, his bold and angular features pull the ensemble off entirely too well.

“Yes,” the sales associate says breathily, her pulse fluttering wildly in her throat.

Behind him, she hears a chuckle that attempts to mask itself behind a loud cough.

Of course there’s another stupidly handsome man in a tailored suit. Of course Mr. Paisley-Ferragamo would have to be gay. She purses her lips in mild annoyance, but the expression is frightened right out of her when the other man’s ice-blue eyes settle on hers with unveiled disgust.

She looks back instead at the man in the checkered suit, noting the slight curve of his equally unfriendly smile.

“I was in this establishment yesterday,” the man says coolly, “you refused to wait on me.”

“Oh?” she shakes her head, “I don’t-”

“You work on commission, do you not?”

“Y-yes.”

Hannibal can barely mask his delight, and his smile widens just a fraction more.

“Will?” he calls out over his shoulder.

Will steps up behind him, holding out three very large shopping bags, as well as a heavy garment bag slung over his arm. Hannibal inclines his chin to the man behind him, keeping his eyes on the girl.

“Big mistake. Big. Huge.”

Will grins madly behind him, pleased as punch. 

Hannibal turns gracefully and tucks his hand into Will’s elbow.

“We have to go shopping now.”

Will hoists the bags higher and motions for Hannibal to lead the way, his eyes shining with pride.

They manage to clear the doorway before bursting into peals of giggles. Will leans heavy against the brick, setting their purchases down for a moment as he catches his breath. Hannibal slides next to him, closer than he needs to, but in this moment he can forget everything about his stupid rules and focus instead on the wild-haired man who seems so intent on rescuing both him and his heart.

Will catches his gaze, sees the fondness in it before Hannibal can properly lock it away.

“You were beautiful in there,” he whispers, “breathtaking.”

Hannibal, for the first time his life, grins, and it shoots a direct line of sunshine straight into Will’s heart.

“Thank you,” he says, trying to convey his gratitude and overwhelming affection with two flimsy words. It isn’t enough.

Will feels the shift and change in him, catches it by the tail-end and holds fast. If this is the only crack in the door he is granted, he’ll be damned if he doesn’t slip in now and shut out the rest of the world behind them.

Just the two of them. Him and -

“Hannibal.”

The word is barely a breath, more of a prayer, but whatever deity is listening clearly has a soft spot for Will, because for the first time Hannibal’s mouth is touching to his. Will sighs in mingled desire and relief. Hannibal tastes like redemption, he tastes like hope and warm nights and sweet winter apples and God he has never tasted anything more intoxicating in his life.

Hannibal grips him by the lapels and drags him closer, but that isn’t enough, suddenly nothing is close enough now, but he settles for raking his fingers into Will’s hair, curling it beneath his fingers and holding fast. Will’s hands come up to grasp at his wrists, anchoring to him as the world spins out beneath his feet.

They kiss for days, or maybe minutes, it’s hard to tell within the vacuum of time they’ve sealed themselves away in, but when Hannibal’s mouth opens to Will’s he loses all sense of the universe. He kisses and licks and bites and moans and  _begs_ and doesn’t care that they’re standing in the middle of Rodeo Drive under the blinding sun. Hannibal is here, Hannibal is kissing him, and those are the only two points on his compass he needs.

“Stay,” Will pleads as he breaks for oxygen, “please, stay.”

Hannibal tucks his forehead into the curve of Will’s throat, tries to hide how badly the words make him fall apart at the seams.

“For how long?” he asks, and when he lifts his head to meet Will’s eyes he sees tears that match his own.

Will’s hands stroke up his back, into his hair, holding him fast and sure.

“Forever.”

He holds him tight, tighter still.

“Forever, Hannibal.”


	2. Big. Huge.

“Hannibal, what did you do?”

The newspaper is slammed onto the marble counter beside their breakfast. Hannibal barely glances at it.

“What do you mean, Will?”

Will is spitting fury, eyes wild and raging.

“Look at the fucking paper, Hannibal.”

He does.

Ah.

“Front page. Front  _fucking_  page.”

Hannibal raises an eyebrow at the headline, catching the words  **MURDER**  and  **SHOCKING**  and paying little further interest past his cursory scan.

 _Kimberley Stevenson_. So that was her name. Hannibal had never asked.

“Mm. How unfortunate.”

Will sweeps the paper to the floor and roughly turns Hannibal in his chair to face him.

“One condition,” he says desperately, “we had one condition.”

“ _You_  had one condition,” Hannibal says placidly, though underneath his anger is beginning to bubble.

Will shakes his head, drags a hand through his hair and leaves the curls standing on end.

“Do you not understand how much danger you’ve put yourself in?” He bends at the knee, meeting Hannibal’s eye as he sits, “How much you’ve put  _us_  in?”

Hannibal stands, pushing the stool back behind him with one long, graceful leg.

“What ‘us’?”

Will immediately turns pale. “Hannibal, don’t-”

“You offered to house me for one week. I have been here five days. That does not constitute an ‘us’.”

“I – I asked you to stay.” Will’s voice starts to tremble and he reaches forward and grips the back of Hannibal’s neck hard, pressing their foreheads together. “Don’t do this.”

“Don’t do what?” Hannibal asks, his anger beginning to fray into something far more desperate and complicated. He tries to break free from Will’s grip but finds himself unable – no, unwilling.

“You knew what I was when you pulled me from the street,” he grits out, “what I  _am_.”

Will shakes his head against him. “No,” he chokes out, “that’s not who you are.”

Hannibal rips himself free with a cry that comes close to a roar. For a moment – brief enough to flash past anyone’s reflexes except Hannibal’s – Will looks frightened. That split second is all it takes for Hannibal to make his decision.

“It is exactly who I am,” he says coolly, “that woman was unbearably rude and so she met the consequences of her actions. I did not make her suffer – much as I wished to – because I knew it would upset you, and yet you still cast judgment upon me.”

Will raises his palms in supplication. “Hannibal, I-”

“No,” he says forcefully, “this charade has reached its conclusion. Thank you for the opera. And the clothing. I hope you can find another boy with measurements similar to mine.”

He walks calmly to the bedroom, ignoring Will’s protestations as he follows. Quickly and efficiently, he packs the belongings that were his when he arrived into his bag. There isn’t much.

“I must apologize,” Hannibal says almost to himself, “I did not intend to encourage your emotions as clearly as I did. It will be best for us both if I leave now.”

“Oh, fuck you!” Will yells, “you feel this just as much as I do. I know you do.” He steps behind Hannibal, wrapping his arms around his waist in a crushing grip. “If you’d just fucking  _listen-_ ”

Hannibal wrenches himself free. “I have no time for your judgments, Mr. Graham.” Will flinches at the formality. The rasp of the bag zipping up echoes deafeningly in the room. It sounds like an ending. Will looks as though he might cry.

“Goodbye,” Hannibal says quietly.

He slips the bag softly off the bed and walks down the hall.

“Hannibal,” Will reaches for him and grabs at air, “Hannibal, no.”

He follows after him until they reach the door, making one last-ditch effort to catch Hannibal’s shoulder before he turns the lock.

“Hannibal, I lo-”

The words cut off instantly as Hannibal spins and violently slams him up against the door, twisting Will’s left arm behind his back and pressing his own forearm over Will’s neck.

“Do not.”

Will’s eyes bulge out and he briefly sputters, but there is no fear there anymore. A glimmer of surprise, and then weary acceptance. He closes his eyes. Hannibal releases him instantly, resisting the impulse to cater to his shame and take Will back into his arms.

They are quiet for a moment. Will takes in a fresh gulp of air and rolls his shoulder. He starts to speak but then bows his head.

“You’ll be what you choose to be,” he says quietly, the words cracked and ringing with pain, “I would have let you become so much more.”

The words break off a shard of Hannibal’s heart, piercing through the carefully managed veil that Will had so selfishly tried to disrupt. He breathes in sharply, tamping down the hurt that spins a knotted web inside him.

Will untwists the lock and opens the door, refusing to look anywhere but the cold hardwood beneath his feet.

Hannibal takes a step, then pauses.

“I let you kiss me,” he says quietly over his shoulder, and then he is gone.

-x-

He spends three days shut up within the confines of his dingy bachelor apartment.

He knows no one will come looking for him, he was as meticulous in his clean-up as he always is, even more so knowing that Will could now be traced back to him.

Will.

Will who had sheltered him and nurtured him and cared for him and kissed him.

Will who had loved him, even if Hannibal hadn’t let him speak it aloud.

Hannibal shakes his head. Foolish, foolish man. There is no man who can love the monster inside of him without being burned to ash. No matter how Will had tried to look past it, it remained. It will always be there, lurking in the shadows and waiting. Really, Hannibal thinks, it would have only been a matter of time before he had turned on Will too.

As quickly as the thought arrives it dissipates like smoke. Hannibal knows better. He would let himself be dragged to hell before anyone ever laid a hand on Will Graham, would drag the world to hell alongside him.

Of all the dangerous and reckless things Hannibal has done in his relatively short life, the worst has certainly been to fall in –

_Amami, Alfredo,  
quant’io t’amo._

The strains of La Traviata filter through the air and Hannibal blinks hard to clear his head. It isn’t the first time he’s heard stray opera wander through the corridors of his memory palace. It’s certainly not the first time it’s been an aria from  _their opera_.

No. Not theirs. He shakes away the cobwebs of sentiment and mutes the record that loops agonizingly through his brain.

It doesn’t work. The music only grows louder. Hannibal cocks his head.

Louder, louder still, until the sound is no longer a trick of the mind, it’s real as the air escaping his lungs and clearly coming from below his bedroom window.

Heart stuck in his throat, he throws the curtains open.

In the street below him a limousine pulls up. It sits quiet for a moment before the sunroof rolls open. A familiar dark-haired head emerges as the aria reaches a crescendo.

Hannibal gasps.

Will is covered in blood. And smiling.

He throws his arms open wide.

For the first time in his life, Hannibal is truly and completely speechless.

He does the only logical thing he can think to do and climbs right out the window. He bolts down the fire escape and by the time he has reached the ground Will has stepped out of the car and stands before him in all his ruined glory.

Hannibal runs his hands over Will’s face, streaking scarlet everywhere. “What did you do?”

Will grins wickedly. “You remember Dr. Chilton? That dreadful asshole from the opera who basically called you a whore to your face?”

Hannibal nods mutely, transfixed.

Will jerks his chin behind him. “He’s in the trunk.”

Hannibal looks agape at the trunk, at the man painted with blood that doesn’t belong to him, eyes filled with fire and truth and above it all  _love_.

Will. His Will. So terribly beautiful.

And just like him.

Hannibal’s plaintive moan echoes into the empty street around them and his fingers clutch forward, grasping for balance, for reason and finding only the unyielding strength of Will offered up to him as sacrament. Before he can stop himself he has catapulted his into his arms, clinging to Will in disbelief.

Will chuckles, gently stroking his shoulders. “Hey, hey, it’s okay, I’m here.” He pulls Hannibal gently free and smiles down at him.

“This is real.”

Will tucks a finger under his chin, the gesture wonderfully and painfully familiar, brings Hannibal’s eyes to meet his own, liquid blue and unrelenting.

“Do you see?” he asks tenderly.

“Yes.” Hannibal whispers, awestruck, “God, Will, yes.”

Their mouths crush together in a kiss that bruises as much as it heals.

“I never meant for you to stop,” Will says between kisses, “I just wanted you to be careful.”

Hannibal laughs desperately against his mouth. “You call this careful?”

“This isn’t my first rodeo, my darling,” Will murmurs fondly, “besides, Anthony knows how to cover my tracks.” He smacks lightly on the side of the limousine door. “Right, Anthony?”

An echoing smack as Anthony pounds the roof in reply, but there is no further response.

Will looks up at the open window Hannibal left behind.

“Is there anything you need back there?”

They both already know the answer. Everything Hannibal needs stands before him drenched in blood.

“No,” he says quietly, looking at Will with humbled reverence, “this is all I ever wanted.”

Will pulls him into his arms. “For both of us,” he replies, stroking reddened fingers through Hannibal’s hair. He kisses the side of his face, his brow, his lips again, and neither care of how the blood, gone black in the moonlight, stains them both.

Hannibal sags against him, the days of misery and hurt draining out of him and replaced with sweet relief.

They are the same. Dear God, they are the same.

“I love you,” Hannibal says, quiet but clear, “madly, I love you.”

Will smiles into his hair. “I know.”

He turns and opens the limousine door, sweeping an arm to usher Hannibal inside, into a world of darkness that Hannibal had never before allowed himself to even dream of.

“Let me take you home.”

**Author's Note:**

> [lovecrimevariations](http://lovecrimevariations.tumblr.com/) on tumblr for more shenanigans and possibly filth.


End file.
